


Into Danger

by Rubynye



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Interspecies, M/M, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-14
Updated: 2010-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-06 07:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Ithilien, Frodo cannot sleep. Neither can Faramir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into Danger

_**Into Danger (Frodo/Faramir, NC-17)**_

Title: Into Danger  
Challenge: Hobbit Smut "In the Wardrobe! Under the Bed!" Challenge  
Rating: NC-17  
Pairing/s: Frodo/Faramir  
Other pairing/s: Frodo/Sam; Boromir/Merry/Pippin; Faramir/Eowyn  
Warning/s: Slash, interspecies, nonmonogamy.   
Dedication: For [](http://baranduin.livejournal.com/profile)[**baranduin**](http://baranduin.livejournal.com/). *grin*.

 

Frodo propped himself up on one arm, watching Sam sleep by moonlight. They had been given two beds, but of course Sam had climbed into Frodo's bed to pillow and cradle his master. Now it was Frodo's turn to warm and watch, as Sam slept with a peace neither of them felt waking, his lashes casting thread-fine shadows on his cheeks, his tender lips parted.

Frodo leaned closer to Sam, listening to the slow calm rhythm of his breathing, then drew back again. It would be beyond unfair to rouse Sam, who spent all his waking moments thinking of and caring for Frodo. He deserved a little peace, however illusory, even if Frodo couldn't sleep, even if he felt hot and cold at once and prickled all over, wishing for Sam's hands to soothe him, Sam's mouth to warm him.

Sam's hands, or an even broader, finer set; Sam's lips, or a pair just as tender though fringed with beard....

Frodo sat up, rubbing his eyes, feeling as if tiny ants swarmed beneath his skin; after a moment, he realized why, and laughed silently at himself. That day, he and Sam had learned they were the last of the Fellowship, Boromir perished, the others likely scattered or dead (Frodo's heart cried within him for Merry and Pippin's lives and safety); they had witnessed a battle and endured fear and questions and overwhelming kindness, till the weight of it all had borne Frodo down in a swoon. And now, after just a few hours' rest, here he was, proddy as a tween (that thought summoned Pippin's bright face, and Frodo's heart ached), his body asserting its life in the face of all this death. It was just a reaction, like the swoon, like Sam's exhausted sleep, and if he lay down again Frodo knew it would pass. They had to be off the next day, setting their faces and their feet towards what was likely their deaths (not Sam's, Frodo so hoped, not Sam's), and they'd need all the strength they could muster.

Even as he thought all this, Frodo watched his hand slide across the clean sheets towards Sam's broad shoulder, towards the plane of his sweet collarbone.

Frodo pulled his hand back and hauled himself out of the bed. If he were not to sleep, the least he could do was to let Sam lie undisturbed. Tucking the sheets round Sam, Frodo contented himself with the lightest of kisses to Sam's brow, before he let himself wander the hidden fort. Creeping past the rows of Men asleep on mattresses, he could hear the watchmen in their places, rustling and breathing; he carefully avoided them but otherwise let himself walk aimlessly.

Certain that Captain Faramir must be asleep, after the day they had all had, Frodo allowed his mind to turn to the Man, Boromir's brother, like him tall and handsome. Boromir had been well-built and good to look at (but for that last madness in his eyes, and Frodo pushed that thought away) and Merry and Pippin had found him good to touch and taste, hadn't they, randy little creatures as they were? (Merry in sunlight, strong and fair, fencing with Boromir, and let those lessons have been enough to save him, Frodo prayed.) Sometime after this was all over, when they were all well in their cups, Frodo had intended to tease some tales out of his kinsmen of what it was like to lie with someone so much larger and stronger. What would it be like, to have such long arms folded around his body, to press himself to a chest to broad and deep? What would it be like to straddle a thigh so wide and firmly muscled, to handle a prick he could barely get his hands around?

(You might find out, sang a tiny voice in the back of Frodo's mind.)

Faramir was safely asleep and out of reach, so as Frodo reached the glittering Window on the West, silver and beryl and pearl in the moonlight, he leaned against the cool stone wall and listened to the song of the water and the song of his blood. Faramir was very like his brother, indeed, but his eyes were softer and warmer, even in that dreadful moment when their glint had sent terror through all Frodo's veins. And ah, the moment after, when Faramir had smiled reassuringly and restated his oath. "Not if I found it on the highway would I take it," Faramir had said, and even as Frodo had eased, reassured, his heart only beat faster as he watched those lips move, listened to that voice. Faramir was something like Aragorn as well, Frodo thought, so dangerous he could afford to be gentle.

Frodo had to admit to himself, and not just in the back of his mind, that desire had been twined with the terror of that moment, that from his first meeting with Faramir want had struggled with wariness in his heart. Faramir was like Boromir, but for that where Frodo had feared Boromir he was also awed by Faramir; where he and Boromir had been friendly, amidst their common cause and company, Frodo knew he could have been fond of Faramir for his own sake. Very fond indeed.

If only it were not for the Ring.

Not for the first time, Frodo cursed the alluring little golden shackle round his throat.

Not for the first time, It sang/laughed/whispered a hollow burning sweetness in reply, filling him against his will with a lust that dragged his hand towards It, made his eyes itch for a glimpse----

"Frodo." Frodo jumped at the sound of his name, heart thudding like a drum, and turned to see the subject of his reverie standing behind him, then kneeling respectfully before him; the moonlight through the water danced and wavered over Faramir's face, turning his stern fairness to something near otherworldly.

"Can you not sleep?" Faramir asked, voice low and soft, and a shudder ran up Frodo's spine. What would Faramir do to him, finding him roaming the fort in the middle of the night?

(What would you have him do?)

Not trusting his voice, Frodo shook his head, immediately realized he must look like a child, and winced. Faramir's mouth drew up at the corners into a little smile, and his hand rose between them, welcoming, not compelling. "If we cannot both sleep, we might as well watch through the night together, might we not?"

"Y-yes," Frodo managed, tongue thick and heavy in his mouth. Faramir rose and turned, and Frodo followed, quickly tucking the Ring back between his shoulderblades, between the _mithril_ shirt and the undershirt. It flared a cold fire there that made him swallow a gasp, but the _mithril_ shirt soothed like metallic silk, and Frodo pushed away at the Ring in favor of a cleaner desire. If perhaps no less perilous of one.

*@*

Faramir's chamber was surprisingly small and narrow, lit by two lamps, with a chest full of scrolls and books between the bed and the wall. Faramir picked a scroll up off the bed, rolling it up quickly with a scholar's careful fingers, and Frodo smiled approvingly to watch him. In better times, they might have talked of Gondor's lore, halflings of legend, all sorts of learning.

Faramir turned his head and caught Frodo smiling, and Frodo unaccountably blushed at the smile he received in return. Faramir's face darkened in the lamplight, and Frodo's breath caught in his throat, his heart stuttered in its beat. Had he offended this powerful, strong man? His foot rose, shifting back----

\---and Faramir's smile widened, and Frodo realized that Faramir was also blushing.

Faramir sat heavily on his bed, covering his face with his hands; he peeped through his fingers at Frodo, a gesture so reminiscent of Pippin that Frodo had to laugh, or weep. So he laughed, and Faramir lowered his hands, looking relieved. "You laugh at me," he said, voice low and warm, and Frodo shook his head even as he laughed all the more. Faramir caught the laughter, muffling it with a hand lest his Rangers hear as he held out the other; it felt so good, sparkling through his blood, that Frodo giddily laid his hand in Faramir's.

The touch shocked the laughter clear out of him. Faramir's hand folded round his like that of a child; it felt warm and rough and yet delicate, as if it were as at home holding a quill as an arrow. And yet... Frodo looked at Faramir's hand, his own vanished within it, and thought of how tiny the his bones must feel in that powerful hand, how crushable. A flare of fear quivered through him, but it was more than half shudders of heat.

Frodo looked up at Faramir's face, which wore a puzzled expression, which was lit by two beautiful, kind eyes. Half of him trembled towards flight; half of him yearned towards the Man. Hadn't he wanted to turn back, every day out of Rivendell, every step out of Bag End? There was no going back. There was never any going back.

Pushing away at his fear, as he had all his journey, Frodo propelled himself forward so violently he fell into Faramir's arms, and more. Faramir parted his legs and held out his arms to catch Frodo, with the result that Frodo found himself clasped to a broad firm chest, enveloped in two long and mighty arms, tucked between two massive thighs. He looked up, and Faramir stared down at him, lips parted in wonder, eyes going dark; Frodo realized, with a little hitch in his chest that, as he had noticed Faramir, so Faramir had taken notice of him.

(Does he wonder how a halfling might lie in his arms?)

"Frodo---" Faramir said, voice rough, and Frodo watched his hand reach up, as if it weren't under his control, to lightly skim the surprisingly soft beard. "I do not think I came here to talk," Frodo admitted, and heard himself, and nearly laughed. The cheek beneath his hand moved as Faramir's mouth quirked; he began to say, "there is no need," but then stopped himself, and his arms tightened gently around Frodo, pinioning him and cradling him at once. Faramir's eyes hooded for a moment, dark and unfathomable; then he looked at Frodo again, with a little smile, and something like wonder. "But there is desire," Faramir admitted, lifting Frodo into his lap as easily as a book. "You come to me freely?"

Frodo nodded, feeling Faramir's beard brushing the palm of his hand, Faramir's arm massive against his back, Faramir's hand curved round half his rump with room to spare. Faramir's hand slid up Frodo's side, up over his shoulder, to cup his cheek, fingertips winding around beneath his hair to the base of his skull, and Frodo trembled to feel that hand halfway round his neck. "I dreamt of you," Faramir murmured, thumb stroking the curve of Frodo's cheekbone back to his ear. "_And the Halfling forth shall stand_, I dreamt, and I saw you."

With those words, Faramir kissed him.

For a moment Frodo almost struggled, almost pulled away from the wide lips pressed to his. But if he struggled, Faramir would let him go, and he didn't want to be released. What did he want, Frodo asked himself, as Faramir's mouth moved slowly and gently over his, lips hardly parted. Did he want Faramir to be so gentle? Did he want all his strength? Frodo began to warm to the kiss, parting his lips to taste Faramir's and trace them with his tongue, and felt an answering thrum in Faramir's lips and breath and arms. Warming as he also was, Frodo realized, Faramir was struggling to restrain himself.

That was when Frodo also realized that he didn't want Faramir to hold back. They only had a few moments together in the midst of this night, and Frodo felt with a sudden fierceness that he wanted to wring every drop of sensation and sweetness from that time, no matter how bruised it left him. The burdensome bauble pulsing beneath his collar had bruised him far worse than this, seemingly for far less gain.

Well, Men were bigger, but they weren't so differently made. Frodo shifted a little and reached up to trace the curve of Faramir's odd round ear, licking between Faramir's lips as he did so, and those lips obligingly parted on a little gasp. Frodo pressed forward into the kiss as aggressively as he dared; he sucked on Faramir's lower lip, feeling where the beard grew up to meet it, as he clutched Faramir's ear to hold him. Faramir's breath caught in his throat, all of him going stiff and still but for his pounding heart and quivering lip in Frodo's mouth; Frodo sucked harder, pushing his tongue up over that lip, but was still shocked nearly out of his skin when Faramir growled, the sound rumbling up from that deep chest so that Frodo felt more than heard it. Arms tightening to just this side of crushing, fingers pressing into Frodo's flesh, Faramir tilted Frodo's head back as his own tongue surged forth to fill and explore and overwhelm Frodo's mouth.

Frodo gasped into the kiss as Faramir all but devoured him. This was what he'd wanted, was it not? To feel Faramir's strength, taste his passion? And yet... Frodo had a sudden thought of writhing naked beneath Faramir, of Faramir tupping him; would it rend him asunder, would it even fit? What had he begun? What madness was burning through his blood even now, as he heard moans and realized they poured from his own throat, as he felt Faramir's mouth open over his, tongue winding round his, fingers tangling in his curls?

Faramir happened, just that moment, to come to himself, gasp, and pull back; his arms loosened around Frodo, who opened dazed eyes to blink at him. "Frodo," Faramir asked hoarsely, "how do you, I mean, are you---"

Faramir looked every bit as flushed and flustered as Frodo felt, and seeing that made Frodo smile and push his chin forward to offer his mouth again. "I'm fine," he murmured, watching Faramir gaze at his mouth. "I'm better than fine. I'll be better yet if you kiss me again." He sounded importunate, he sounded like a tween, he sounded like Pippin. And it worked; Faramir pulled him in for another plunging, devastating kiss.

Frodo's hands slid and scrabbled on the leather of Faramir's jerkin, searching for a way in. After a moment or several of the kiss, Frodo disentangled his tongue well enough to whisper against Faramir's mouth, "I would feel you;" His own boldness amazed him, but Faramir merely chuckled and pulled him closer with one arm, reaching up with the other hand to undo something or other. Faramir reached further and yanked, and the jerkin came up and off, revealing only a thin shirt underneath; Frodo spread his fingers on Faramir's chest, feeling skin and hair, a wide scar and a tautening nipple beneath the linen. "We ought not to take off too much," Faramir said, even as his hands untucked Frodo's shirt and slid beneath---

Too late, Frodo remembered the _mithril_ shirt, as he felt Faramir startle, but before he could apologize or explain Faramir smiled at him. "Halflings have tougher hides than I would have thought," he said, as his fingers felt the edges of the mail-shirt, then beneath. "I am glad you have hidden protections. And this is not the first time I have shared pleasure in armor."

Faramir's smile broadened, and Frodo laughed a little, pulling him down for another kiss. Oh, he could indeed have been fond of this Man, given time and peace. But they had neither, nor could they hope for more than this lamplit hour of the night, so Frodo wound an arm around Faramir's neck, feeling the straightish hair falling over his hand, and Faramir gathered him close and laid them both down.

Frodo's skin tingled and burned, every fingersbreadth of it wishing to press to Faramir's, crying out to be stripped bare. Faramir was right, they didn't dare be nude, but Frodo still longed for it as Faramir's hands roamed his body, covering so much of him with every press and stroke. He felt as if he might melt, despite the coolness of the cave's air, as if he might burst apart but for Faramir's arms wrapped round him, holding him together. He felt roused almost beyond endurance, as Faramir kissed his cheeks and chin and pushed his collar aside to suckle at his neck so that he groaned, and he rejoiced in it. He was so roused he almost couldn't feel the Ring. It felt wonderful.

So, of course, Faramir's questing hand slid down from Frodo's curls, down the nape of his neck, to accidentally press the Ring through the over-shirt so that It seared them both. Blood pounding in his ears, Frodo found himself halfway across the bed before he knew it, looking up at Faramir's wide eyes even as his hands rose to the back of his neck----

_No_, he told himself, dragging his hands back down. He had far better to fill them with. Faramir leaned on one elbow, other hand palm-up, mouth already shaping an apology Frodo could barely hear over his thumping heart. "---pardon," Faramir said, voice soft and regretful, and Frodo shook his head, recalling other wide-eyed looks of horror. "No, Faramir, I----this is what It does. But I cannot lay It aside. Can you, can we still....?" Frodo's words faltered, but Faramir smiled, nodding. "If you will still have me."

For answer, Frodo held out his arms.

Faramir reached across to pull him close, leaning over Frodo and looking down at him with, if anything, even more wonder. "Frodo," he murmured, gently running fingertips over Frodo's face. "So small, so strong, bearing such a heavy burden. Facing such fear. Do you fear me?"

Frodo wanted to say no, but he would not look into those eyes and lie. "Yes," he replied, reaching up to stroke Faramir's lips as if the caress could soothe away the answer. "But I've been afraid since before my journey began, and time and again have had to turn towards my fear. At least in you I see a reward for it." Faramir's brow quirked, and Frodo sighed and tried again. "You are kind, Faramir, and fair, gracious and warm, and I very much want to be near you. You're more than worth being brave."

Faramir smiled, full and warm. "You have taught me much of courage, Frodo," he said, breath curling over Frodo's mouth, as he leaned down to kiss him.

This kiss was sweet, though Faramir held himself up on his arms over Frodo till Frodo wound his legs round Faramir's waist and pulled himself off the bed to press their bodies flush. Chuckling when he realized what Frodo was doing, Faramir rolled so Frodo lay on his chest, sliding his hands down Frodo's back and thighs and legs, then to his own breeches. "I think we might strip a little more," Faramir suggested, "if you like."

"I think we might," Frodo agreed, smiling into the next kiss as he undid his buttons. His hands brushed Faramir's as Faramir undid his ties, and he made a note that one day he would learn how those ties worked, if beyond the end they met again. Tonight, though, it was faster to undo their own clothes.

Frodo scooted back, so he straddled one of Faramir's thighs, and reached into his opened breeches to ease out what he found there. And then looked at it, at his hands curved round it, the familiar arrangement of prick and eggs and thatch of curly hair, the feel of velvet over heat, but so much more of it! _Ah me_, he thought, regarding Faramir's prick, till the Man rose up on his elbows with a look of consternation. "Frodo?"

"I---" Frodo swallowed, trying to look up at Faramir's eyes and failing utterly. "I was just trying to think of how this might fit."

Faramir gaped. Then he laughed, reaching to pull Frodo up so that Frodo had to let go, which his hands rather regretted till they filled themselves with Faramir's hair as Faramir kissed him soundly. "You make me blush," Faramir said, still laughing a little. "I am just a Man, just myself. And there is no need to worry about where it might fit."

Frodo Baggins was not one to shy away from a challenge. "Even if I want to?" he asked, all the while silently calling himself mad.

Faramir's eyes went wide. "You would not be able to walk tomorrow!"

"I don't want to think on tomorrow." Frodo pushed his face forward for another kiss, and Faramir met him, tangling their tongues. When Frodo lifted his head again, Faramir's eyes were still shut, and Frodo noted how tender his cheek was beneath his eyelashes. For all his size, his rank, and his wisdom, Faramir was no older than Merry; the thought made Frodo's heart ache with something ludicrously close to tenderness. "Show me how to please you," he murmured, and Faramir opened his eyes. "You are my guest," he said, his smile near kin to a smirk. "Allow me to please you, and I will be well pleased. After all, I have hardly beheld even half of you, not touched nearly enough of this fine skin."

"Well, then, touch me." Frodo took Faramir's hand in both of his, kissing the pad of the thumb before laying it on his belly. Faramir shifted onto his side, tucking Frodo into the crook of his arm as his broad hand curved and explored, sliding beneath Frodo's shirts and then into his breeches.

Frodo heard himself gasp, loud in the little room. Faramir's fingers, long and large and gentle, roamed his skin, palm pressing behind, back and under as Frodo shuddered at the exquisite rasp of calloused skin. He realized his eyes were closed, his face pressing to Faramir's chest, but opening them was quite impossible while Faramir's fingers swerved and curled and gently stroked.

"I would taste you," Faramir said, soft and rough, and Frodo helplessly moaned, muffling himself against Faramir's chest. Words failing, breath sobbing in his throat, Frodo nodded, but Faramir pulled his hand up swiftly, and Frodo mewled disappointment, almost wishing he could pull that so-welcome hand back; still, in its absence and after a breath or three, he could open his eyes to Faramir's worried gaze above him. "Frodo?"

Frodo stared up, and then it was his turn to laugh. "Faramir! You took my breath away, is all." Faramir smiled at that, and said, "here it is back again," as he leaned down to kiss him. Faramir kissed his cheeks and eyes and chin, and tugged the collar gently aside to kiss his neck again, as the rest of Frodo's skin tingled damply and enviously within his clothing; he shifted them to raise Frodo to his face as he curled round him, and Frodo ran long strands of hair between his fingers.

Then he was hard put not to pull on them, as he gasped, biting his lip hard to keep from wailing. Faramir had engulfed him entire, rolling his eggs on a nimble tongue, and Frodo realized he would not last, not enwrapped by that wet heat, not as Faramir's hands cupped his arse and pressed him closer yet. Frodo curled round Faramir's head, burying his face in fistfuls of long hair, and groaned as his ill-fitting skin and twitch-ridden flesh and fear-haunted mind went up in an endless pulsation of pale clean fire. Dimly he felt Faramir shift what was left of him to hold him; when he'd come back from ash and pleasure he found himself reconstituted into a whole hobbit again.

A hobbit tucked against a hard, wet, rather enormous prick. Frodo blinked and turned his head, catching the ragged note in Faramir's breathing, and shifted to reach down. Faramir gave a small grunt of protest; Frodo, no stranger to how pleasure could strip the words from the most articulate, had to suppress a giggle as he said, "how can I not?" wriggling down to follow his hands with his mouth.

How could he have passed this up, indeed; Faramir tasted just as a lad should, sweet-salty musk, and there was enough of him and more to satisfy anyone. Knowing better than to try its fit to his mouth, Frodo settled for licking circles as he stroked with both hands, hooking a knee behind Faramir's thighs. Faramir shuddered silently, one hand gripping the bedsheet so Frodo felt its pull against his cheek, and Frodo set out to discover what would win a moan. Strokes from base to tip, tongue laving the head; when he licked the slit Faramir jerked and moaned indeed, his hand in Frodo's hair clenching for just a moment. Frodo chuckled and kept licking, and Faramir shuddered, groaning and undone; a few moments more and he peaked, muffling a long low cry with his arm.

It tasted nearly the same, though of course there was more of it. Frodo wondered at his own surprise; then he wriggled up to kiss Faramir's eyelids, and Faramir draped a heavy boneless arm over him and lay and panted and glowed.

Sooner than Frodo had expected, Faramir opened his eyes, and smiled. "Thank you," he whispered, and Frodo felt the blush rise again to his cheeks as Faramir kissed him, cupping his head. Sliding his arms around Faramir's neck, Frodo worked with a corner of his mind to identify the strange sensation humming through him, even as the rest of him concentrated on Faramir's fingers warm at the back of his neck, Faramir's lips warm over his mouth, Faramir's warm embrace.

It felt almost like a lack of fear, something akin to happiness.

Faramir slid his hand up along Frodo's cheek and let go, and Frodo leaned back, reading his own rueful thought in Faramir's eyes. They had dallied too long already, and were fortunate to have not been interrupted. Tucking themselves away and doing up their clothes, they brushed each other's hair with their hands, laughing softly like children who whisper together when they should be asleep. Just as Faramir drew his jerkin back on, footsteps rang down the corridor.

Frodo startled, glancing about for a place to hide himself, but Faramir shook his head and, with a pat to Frodo's shoulder that was half a caress, stood and went to the doorway. Opening the door just wide enough to see out, he softly called, "Yes, Damrod?"

"I am sorry to wake you, Captain Faramir," Frodo heard, "but there is something swimming in the Forbidden Pool, and one of the halflings is not in his bed."

Frodo reminded himself sternly not to laugh. "For the latter," Faramir replied, "he is with me; being both sleepless, we were conversing." Frodo bit his lip against a mounting wave of hilarity. "As for the former, you were right to come to me. I will go with you and see it." Turning back towards Frodo, Faramir asked with both words and eyes, "Frodo, I desire your counsel. Will you come with me?"

Frodo nodded, and went.

 

*@*

 

The sunshine being strong, and the ale being stronger, and no one else being near while Faramir and Frodo sat looking out over the shining city, when Faramir pulled open his shirt to show Frodo his newest scar Frodo leaned over and kissed it. It was pink and smooth beneath his lips, pulsing with Faramir's heartbeat.

With matching gasps, Frodo threw himself back as Faramir reached out. Frodo looked up at Faramir, as a hand whose breadth and gentleness he well knew curled loosely round his shoulder. "I beg----"

"It felt better for it," Faramir said, cutting off Frodo's apology with soft words and a smile. "I wish I might kiss all yours better."

Frodo felt his face burn as hotly as ever Sam's did. Yet, the thought of Faramir's warm lips tracing his scars... he had to look down at his hands, startling a little as ever to see one finger gone, letting that distraction cool his blood. "Still, I shouldn't have, not now when you're betrothed."

"I am, and gladly so." Faramir's fingers slid up and down Frodo's arm, stroking counterpoint to his words. "Not least because my lady learned me better in days than most women might have in years. I told her of our Ithilien meeting, Frodo, about us."

Frodo glanced up again, and fell into Faramir's eyes. "I hadn't thought it was the custom here," he blurted, and shook his head, feeling his wits slosh about in the ale. In all their sunlit conversation, their stolen nighttime hour had lain unmentioned between them; Frodo could almost have chided himself for calling it up now, but that Faramir's smile made him feel something like alive, something close to happy. "Pippin told me of it," Faramir replied, and Frodo couldn't help but laugh, nodding for Faramir to continue. "And it is a wise one. What did Samwise think?"

Frodo giggled, caught himself, glared at his mug; Faramir laughed when he put it aside, but assumed such an innocent look when Frodo glared at him that Frodo had to relent. "He looked me over, said I had more color in my cheeks, smiled and kissed me." More slowly, Frodo added, "what did Eowyn think?"

"She said we have both made our friends these past days of war, and she would not have us keep each other from them in peace." Faramir looked out over the city, his hand still on Frodo's arm, sunlight glinting on the threads of his hair. "I was sorry to send you into danger, Frodo, thinking I would not see you more. I misliked the thought of it from the moment I met you and Samwise, but even more so afterwards. I am glad to be here, having this talk in the sun I spoke of with such faint hope."

Frodo looked up at Faramir, as he had before, and made up his mind once again. "This talk, and more?" he asked hopefully, leaning into Faramir's touch, and Faramir rewarded him with a smile, gently pulling him closer. "And more, if you would like," Faramir agreed.

Frodo grinned, all the wider for the delightful unfamiliarity of happiness, and climbed up onto Faramir's lap, straddling one thigh. It was as firm and massive as he recalled, supporting him effortlessly, and this time his awe at the feel of it was entirely without fear. "Do you know, Faramir" he said, fanning his fingers out over Faramir's shirt-covered chest, almost not minding that there was one missing, "I have not yet seen you out of your clothes?"

"Nor I you," Faramir murmured, arm winding round Frodo's waist, hand gently cupping his head, and they kissed in the warm sunshine.


End file.
